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by arc1908



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Arya Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:05:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arc1908/pseuds/arc1908
Summary: post 8x05, Arya is terrified and she goes home





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> hear me out - I reread half of it and there weren't that many errors and I need to go to sleep so I am sincerely sorry for grammatical errors. They drive me crazy (it's not a big deal I know) so if they drive you crazy, from the bottom of my heart, my bad
> 
> anyways enjoy ;)

Arya kicked the horse into a gallop, riding out as fast as she could. She couldn’t stand to be in the city anymore, the stink of charred flesh following her, ash and dust clogging in her throat. She saw more blackened figures huddled on the street, clutching each other in their last moments. She couldn’t take it.

She wanted no part in any of it anymore. She chose life. She galloped through empty streets, the hooves of the horse strangely muffled by the layers of ash already settling, seeking the remains of the gates that were now just a hole in a wall. 

More than anything, she wanted to go home. When she left she hadn’t even looked back. She missed the great towers and spiraling peaks of home, smoke gently curling into the sky, the sounds of people living, swords clanging in the courtyard. She wanted to be in those courtyards training for herself, she wanted to see Sansa again, hug her and apologize for being a brat when they were younger, and though she lied and told herself she didn’t, she wanted to see Gendry one more time. His shocked and heartbroken face was still fresh in her mind, pulling at her heart. 

She finally escaped the fallen city, the horse as eager to leave as she was. Arya slid down its back as she reached the rest of the retreating army. There were random mixings of soldiers everywhere, Northerners laughing and chatting with Dothraki, even some of the Unsullied joining, but most of them were watching the city. Daenerys and Drogon were perched farther down the wall, too close for Arya’s taste. The dragon looked almost tired. 

Arya saw Jon watching her, his face in horror. He truly didn’t believe them when they said they didn’t trust her. He was a fool, but he was her big brother, so she hugged him and whispered her condolences. He seemed almost surprised to hear them, but simply nodded. He was still in shock. Arya realized she probably was too. 

“I’m going home, Jon,” she said bluntly. He stared up at her. 

“We all are,” he said slowly. “I mean, we should.” He doesn’t know what to do, Arya realized. She didn’t either. She just knew she had to go home. 

“I’m going now. I’m going to ride to the nearest port and sail home.” 

He was quiet a long while, turning back to stare at Dany. 

“Alright then,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, then.” He turned back to her and almost said something more. But he hugged her instead, wishing her safe travels, then turning to watch Daenerys once more. She hoped he was right, and they would see each other again. She knew Daenerys wrath was powerful. They all did now. 

She jumped back onto the white horse again, and rode as far away from the city of ash as she could. 

 

She left the horse with a young farmer and his wife, just outside of Blackwater Bay, in exchange for a night’s rest and food. She set off again in the morning, saying a farewell to the horse with a long look, her companion, the only one who had seen what she had, before turning to the Eastern road and never looking back. 

She was on a ship by the end of the night, and sailing home by the next morning. The trip was even longer that when she had crossed the Narrow Sea to Braavos, and Arya found herself bored. She washed out the dust from King’s Landing though she still felt the stink of the place clinging to her. It was no matter. Soon she would be home. 

Curled up in her little cabin, she dreamed of the gentle snowfalls and chilly air, Sansa’s burning hair, so much like their mother’s, Jon finishing her sentences with her, and even of this new Bran, who was not her brother, but was still family. She dreamed of the warmth of a forge and Gendry hammering away, muscles shimmering with sweat. She could feel her hands running up and down the muscles, hard as stone, and the way he shivered at her touch. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine his arms around her, warming her in the chill of the ocean at winter. 

Arya woke in the middle of the night many times convinced that he was there only to find that he was not. The closer she got to home the more intense the dreams got and the guiltier she felt. She realized she missed him more than anything in Winterfell, but she couldn’t be what he wanted, so she could never have him again. Not the way she wanted. 

By the time they reached port she was almost dreading her return, but the thought of her room and the cold of the North was too enticing. The people of the North knew her by sight now, immediately hailed as the Night Kingslayer, many of the common people openly staring. It wasn’t a title she would choose, sounding too much like Jaime Lannister, but she held her head high as they cheered for her, smiling at a few of them. 

If she had it her way no one would know, but the North needed a hero and she had saved them all. Besides, she received a fresh horse and free meals, which she promised to repay them for, and would get her home within a few days. She rode hard, making it in town, arriving at Winterfell in the dead of night. 

The stars were in the sky, a full moon shining on the castle. Most of the torches were burning low, though Arya could still see the charred remains of the Trench and spots where dragonfire had ripped wights apart. Seeing it reminded her of another battle field destroyed by fire. She cringed at the memory, kicking her horse into a gallop for the last mile. 

She terrified the night guards, shouting “Who’s there?” into the moving shadows. 

“Arya Stark,” she answered calmly, lowering the hood of her cloak. They relaxed, dropping their weapons and pulling the gates open. 

“Did you hear about King’s Landing, M’lady?” one of the guards asked. He was a young boy, only a year or two older than her, speaking in an earnest tone. She nodded, doing her best to keep a calm expression. It was harder now, but these men had no way of knowing she had been there and she didn’t intend for them to find out. The only ones who even knew she had gone South were Jon and Sansa. And Gendry, she supposed. 

She didn’t want to explain to these men where she had been so she pushed past them, trying not to remember the sounds of King’s Landing dying. 

“Do you want us to wake Lady Sansa?” Their captain called out. Arya shook her head. She knew her sister would be barely sleeping anyways. She didn’t want the interrupt what little amount of sleep she was getting now. 

“Just send some food and hot water to my room.” She turned away, crossing the empty courtyard. She remembered walking past here, not more than three weeks ago, leaving without the intent to return. 

There was a layer of soft snow over the courtyard that muffled her steps, reminding her of the ash in King’s Landing. She felt sick, the scent of burned flesh returning to her. She hurried out of the courtyard, comforted when she returned to stone floors that clapped her steps. For the first time in a long time she didn’t try to soften their fall, enjoying the sound of leather on wood. 

Arya reached her chambers, the air chilly. It was just as she left it, clothes packed neatly away, furs aligned perfectly on her bed. A tub of steaming water was the only sign that anyone had been in there since she had left. 

She stripped out of her clothes eagerly; the warm water from the springs that Winterfell was built over were irreplaceable for cleansing oneself. She eased herself into the water, feeling the last of the ash and dust and blood wash away until it was just her and dirty water. She rose reluctantly, but she was exhausted, and didn’t fancy falling asleep in the tub. 

She was glad to be back home, dressing in thick night clothes and curling up beneath the furs. She never felt cold at home, she thought dreamily. The North was famous for its cold and yet in her bedchambers and beneath her furs she never felt warmer. 

She let her mind wander, the warmth growing steadily, reminding her of the South and summer, and a hearty fire. The fire grew stronger, not just keeping her warm but burning. She realized it was too hot, she could feel her skin ablaze, smoke choking her. When she tried to open her eyes all she saw was flames. She could hear other people crying out but she couldn’t help them. A little girl’s scream fell quickly and Arya knew she had succumbed to the flames. 

She could smell flesh burning, feel herself waste away. Arya tried to run but she had no more legs, only charred stumps. She tried to pat the flames down but when she rose her hands, they were black. She opened her mouth to scream and it the noise ripped out of her, a wail loud enough to wake her from her dreams. 

Arya opened her eyes, heart pounding in her chest. She was on fire! She threw the blankets from her, rolling off her bed onto the hard stone floor. The chill of the floor was comforting, cooling her down and helping her realize she was not actually on fire. 

She picked herself off the ground, feeling the bruise forming on her side. She was breathing heavily, the memory of flames enveloping around her still fresh. The taste of flesh was burned into her mouth, so foul no amount of water could wash it away. 

She still felt as though the bed chambers were burning hot so she slipped out of her room, trying to get the dream out of her head. She saw the woman who had saved her and her daughter, the people she had failed to save, burned beyond recognition. She wondered if they had any family, a father, brothers. She hoped not. They would never know what happened to their loved ones.She saw hundreds like that as she rode out, laying in the street, so black they did not seem human. 

The heat of dragon fire still tingled on Arya’s arms. It was a fire she could not escape, no matter how far North she went. 

She didn’t pay attention to where she was going, letting her feet find their way, but she looked up when they stopped before a door. She took a long moment to remember she was not in a city on fire anymore but home, the night chilly. 

She caught herself shivering at the door, relishing in the feel of goosebumps traveling down her bare arms. She looked down to see she hadn’t even put on boots. Her toes felt numb in the cold. She smiled. 

She pushed the door in front of her open, lightly stepping into the room. He was asleep, all flames extinguished. It was colder in here than her own room, though she could not judge it accurately. It had felt like there was a dragon in her room with her when she had left. What it really was like she did not know. 

He slept heavily, a light snore escaping his lips that almost made her want to giggle. She caught herself, frowning at the notion. It was so… girlish. When had she ever been girlish?

This was a mistake, she realized. Why had she come here? Even if she dreamed of him at night, she could not be who he wanted. Being here would only hurt both of them. Arya turned quickly, pulling the door shut.

It creaked loudly before she could take a step, waking him. 

“Who’s there?” He asked the darkness, grabbing a dagger that lay by his side. Arya stepped forwards as his eyes had not quite adjusted to the darkness yet and he could not see her. 

“It’s me,” she said, stepping closer so that she stood in front of the bed. Part of her screamed to leave, but she sat instead. 

“I thought…” he frowned. He was still mostly asleep and struggled to find the words. “Did you not go to King’s Landing? You didn’t die?” 

She didn’t die. She should have. Each time people shoved her to the ground, or buildings collapsed over her, or the dragon flew past her, she thought, this is how I die. But she didn’t die.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t die.” Gendry sat up, reaching out slowly and brushing his hands against her cheek. 

“Not a dream?” He asked softly. 

“Not a dream,” she murmured, leaning into his hand. They were rough and callused and warm. 

“Arya.” He said her name like it was prohibited and saying it was a rare pleasure. She swallowed hard. 

“King’s Landing was destroyed,” he jerked up suddenly. The sleep had finally washed away and he was awake. He ran his hands over her face frantically, searching for cuts and bruises. He stopped at the large bruise that had formed over her head. 

“I heard so many stories, Cersei blew up the city, the Dragon Queen destroyed it all, Arya, what happened?” He asked, blue eyes piercing. 

She let the words spill out, how she and Sandor had gotten into the palace, how he saved her. Her lip began to tremble at his name, the tenderness in his hands when he gripped her shoulder and told her to go. She spoke of the dragon fire destroying the city, the flames hotter than anything she’d ever felt, people scrambling over each other to escape them. Tears starting to fall, she told Gendry about the woman who had saved her life and how in return she had failed that woman. She told him about the empty silence after the city had fallen, how ash fell like snow. 

“They all burned,” she cried out. “Gendry, I can still smell their bodies! I can feel the heat of dragon fire!” She let herself cry for the first time in years, tears falling for the people of King’s Landing, for Sandor Clegane, who had saved her life more than once, for Jon, who’d had so much faith in Daenerys. She let Gendry pull her into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder, tears for Robb and her mother, who she had been so close to before they were ripped away. 

She cried for all the death she had seen, the deaths of the people who had been her whole heart. She cried for her father, who had been the first of them all, whose death made her start hr list.

But the list was over now. The drive to finish it was gone. All Arya wanted to do now was cry. 

Gendry let her cry into his shoulder until all her tears were dried up. They had intertwined on the bed, Arya with her knees in her chest and face pressed to his shoulder, arms around his neck. Gendry wrapped his strong arms around her whole body, chin resting on her forehead, cradling her as she sobbed. 

She peeked him shyly, embarrassed by the tears. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, pushing away from him a little and trying to reorient herself. He brushed his fingers over her cheeks again, wiping the last of the tears away. 

“For what?” He asked. It was a genuine question, Arya realized. 

“You don’t… I’m not what you need,” she whispered. “I can’t be.” 

“Arya, I love you,” he said. “I don’t care if you’re not a lady. You are the only woman I love.” 

If she had anymore tears they would fallen now. For the first time in her life, she wished she was more like her sister. But the feeling passed. She had known who she was her entire life, and no matter how much she loved this man, she would not change who she was. 

“I love you,” she said, “but I can’t be what you want.” He laughed. 

“Arya, you are what I want.” His piercing blue eyes were fierce. “I don’t care if you’re a lady or not, if you’ll rule Storm’s End with me. I’ll give it up. The best part about that damned title was I finally felt worthy of you, but if you hate the damned thing so much then I’ll reject it. If the Queen is as crazy as you say then it won’t matter anyways I’ll stay with you, follow wherever you want to go. 

“Arya there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Please.” He took her hands. She was afraid he would propose again, but, “I love you,” was all he said. 

“I love you too,” she found herself answering. He would give it all up. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. He had only felt worthy when he became a lord and yet that was what kept them apart. But he said he would give it all up for her. 

For a moment, Arya let herself imagine that. Leaving Westeros, going across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities, or even farther, just the two of them together. It was a beautiful dream, but it was just a dream.

She couldn’t let him do it, the guilt of even imagining that life weighing down on her. Though he would never say it, he loved the idea. Arya knew he would be a good lord, helping the common people instead ignoring them like most lords. 

She imagined a different life, with Lord Gendry Baratheon, lord of Storm’s End. She imagined herself, Lady Arya Stark, Lady of Storm’s End. She saw herself in the South, by his side day after day, listening to him rule over small matters. But she saw him looking to her as well, watching her give judgement. She saw herself sparring with him in the courtyard, strategizing for war with him. She saw herself commanding troops, her lord-husband on the other side of the battlefield. 

She saw herself teaching her children to water dance, teaching them to be as swift as a deer, strong as bears, fierce as wolverines. 

She found herself smiling at the thought. Her title might be lady, but maybe she could change what that meant. More than anything, she wanted to help people, and maybe she could do that as a lady. She could see that future in front of her, all she had to do was take it. 

“Ask me again,” she said with a smile. Gendry frowned, unbelieving, so she prompted him further. “Ask me to marry you.” 

“Arya Stark.” He said it gently, as if he were afraid she might change her mind. “Will you marry me?” 

She was nodding before he finished, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. He pulled her closer, arms tight around her waist. 

He pulled away. “Is that a yes?” 

She laughed and said yes, repeating it over and over again, emphasizing each one with a kiss. 

That night, she didn’t have to imagine his arms around her. She fell asleep warm, without a thought of burned bodies or dragon fire. Arya fell into a deep sleep, wrapped in the arms the man she loved, and she dreamed of being as happy as she was now for the rest of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> I know a few parts are weak on arya's characterization but hey, if d&d can ignore canon than so can I
> 
> Literally making that joke inspired me to finish this. The point is I am broken and if this or some shit like this doesn't happen then ufck it


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